Blue Swords
by jillyfae
Summary: What if ... Sebastian Vael never went to the Chantry? What if Fenris never made it Kirkwall? Could they have still met, danger and potential lurking at their heels. (An AU request from Liz on tumblr. )


He'd finally gotten disowned when he seduced his middle brother's young _intended._ And got caught.

He'd already had a tumble or three with his eldest brother's wife, but no one besides the two of them had ever figured that one out.

His brothers really were quite useless, and not particularly good at paying attention to their women.

But, they were respectable and he was not, so he was the one who left. He was surprised to discover it was rather a relief, after all, no longer having to haunt the Court as _that young Vael, such a disappointment._

He just went by Bastian now, to avoid too much speculation about distinctive Vael coloring when he was too close to the Marches. Ended up second-in-command to the Blue Sword Mercenary troop, valued perhaps a bit more for his ability to charm the noble clients than his shooting skills, though those of course were excellent.

Otherwise he'd be dead three times over, at least.

Enghardt was originally from the Anders, but he'd been almost everywhere in Thedas in the past twenty years, and he made a good Captain, neither too reckless nor too paranoid, and he shared the spoils with his men more generously than most.

He also had the strangest habit of taking in strays, even training with the occasional apostate on the run. He let the more common young runaways tend the horses until they got enough weight on them for some proper arms training, or ran off again in search of something more exciting than grunt work with a sword and a shovel.

For some reason that was rather the favorite part of Bastian's new life, helping whatever young thing caught his Captain's attention. Maker knew he'd been pretty useless when Enghardt took him in.

This elf, however, was obviously quite different.

Older, haunted. Scarred in a way that none of them had ever seen before. A fire in his eyes that most of them had. Mercenaries met their share of both slavers and enslaved, after all. The Captain tried not to take jobs from the former when he could help it.

Bastian had a feeling he'd be more trouble than most of the slaves they'd run across. Not that he cared. He wasn't scared of trouble. And the elf was certainly strong enough to pull his weight, and smart enough to be good company along the way.

Bastian found himself hoping he would stay. _Fenris._ It suited him, as well as any of their names did, nowadays.

"Welcome to the Blue Swords." Bastian smiled, and offered his hand for the new recruit to shake. "It's a pleasure to meet you."

When the first batch of Tevinter slavers came looking, the Blue Swords killed them all. And Fenris tried to leave, apologizing for bringing enemies to their doorstep, so to speak.

Enghardt just laughed, and said that they could use the practice. "Besides, you and your hunters make for a grand story. We'll get twice as many offers next season, if this keeps up."

Fenris was obviously uncomfortable, but he stayed anyways. Bastian couldn't help the slight hope that it was partly because of him, of the unlikely friendship they'd struck up on night watches and long walks, their fondness for decent wine and song whenever they were in a semi-decent sized town.

Bastian knew better than to push himself on someone who'd been a slave, had seen too many people too broken by trying to survive the sorts of things Masters did to people who couldn't fight back. But he occasionally liked to indulge the fantasy that some day Fenris would feel safe enough to consider an invitation.

Until then, it was nice to have a friend.

The hunters grew bolder, more desperate. One of them was apparently a Magister's apprentice herself, _Hadriana._ Such a pretty name for a monstrous woman. They'd killed her too, however, and Fenris warned them that someday her Master, _his Master,_ might show up himself.

He seemed startled when Enghardt asked him to stay anyways. "Four seasons with us makes you family, Fenris. We take care of our own."

The Captain had already started training Fenris in tactics and logistics. Had slyly slipped a book or two into Bastian's bags when he realized the former slave didn't know how to read. Bastian recognized what he was doing, as he didn't think anyone else had. Certainly not Fenris.

Enghardt was getting old, and he was training up his replacements. Bastian.

And Fenris.

"You want to give them to us both, don't you." Bastian asked quietly over dinner one night, a private meal in the Captain's tent, no other ears close enough to listen.

"You work well together. He's solid when you want to rush, deadly when you want to talk. You've got the experience with our crew and our contacts, but I think he'd make you a good second. Don't you?"

Bastian smiled. "I do. Not sure how you'll convince him of it, however."

"Give it time, my boy. We've got time."

Danarius came. He was worse than Bastian had ever imagined, summoning monsters from beyond the Fade, the coppery taste of blood in the air as he turned Enghardt's men against themselves.

They killed him anyways.

Though the cost was high. Only three-quarters of the men survived to stand at the Captain's pyre. Enghardt had saved them all, a suicide run against the Magister's shields, breaking the man's concentration long enough Fenris could get to him.

Could tear his still beating heart right out of his chest.

That had been a highly satisfying moment, even for Bastian. He couldn't even imagine what it felt like for Fenris.

Fenris, who came to Enghardt's tent, _Bastian's tent, now,_ after the services, eyes wide and hands loose, asking if he still had a place, after everything he'd cost them.

"You cost us nothing, my friend." Bastian wanted to embrace him, to soothe the shadows in those bright green eyes, but he'd learned over the years that Fenris seldom appreciated the gesture, the brush of someone else's skin against his scars. "Danarius did, and you killed him for us. Thank you."

Fenris shook his head, a lock of hair catching behind one ear, sticking out to the side. Bastian had to take a breath, remind himself that he didn't have the right to reach out a hand and brush it down.

"It's true. And I want you to stay. The Captain wanted you for my second when he retired, you know, and there isn't anyone else I'd rather have stay by my side."

Fenris went suddenly, shockingly still, eyes dark and shoulder's hunched.

"You don't have to decide right away," Bastian continued, after almost too many breaths had passed in silence. "We're going to Cumberland to recuperate. Let those who don't want to stay under my command buy out, hire and train enough people to have a full company for next season. Think about it though, please?"

Fenris finally nodded, and slipped out of the tent.

He didn't say a word to Bastian the rest of the trip to Cumberland.

When he heard the knock at the door of his room at their usual lodgings back in Cumberland, Bastian had to bow his head, fingers tight around the edge of Enghardt's, _Bastian's,_ desk as he reminded himself to breathe. "Come in."

Fenris slipped inside, the latch of the door uncommonly loud as he shut the door behind him.

It was more than Bastian could manage to speak, or even smile, his heart caught in his throat at the thought that he was about to lose his best friend. The one person who he'd thought, perhaps, could be more than ...

He shook his head, and walked around his desk so they'd be on more even footing. He stopped a few steps in front of Fenris and waited.

"I do not," Fenris shifted, the slide of his feet just barely audible, skin against wood. "That is." He paused, a scowl creasing his dark brows. "I do not wish to be your second."

Bastian closed his eyes, hands tight against his side, cold sorrow coating his throat as he tried to swallow his heart down far enough to let him say good-bye.

"But it would mean a lot, that is," Fenris' voice was rough, even more so than usual, and Bastian opened his eyes again, something suspiciously like hope lifting his chin, causing him to take a half a step closer.

"I would like to be your partner." There was the slightest catch before that final word, a darkness in his eyes as his glance traveled across Bastian's body, and hope shifted blindingly quickly to hot delight flushing beneath his skin.

"What sort of _partners_ did you have in mind?" Bastian stalked forward again, there was really no other way to put it, a purr in his voice as he leaned in as close as he dared, just barely a breath of space between them.

Fenris smiled, slow and dangerous, and leaned in to close the gap. "Every sort." The brush of his lips was soft against Bastian's mouth.

"Oh," Bastian sighed as Fenris leaned back, just enough to let him breathe, to let him find his voice again and speak. "That is quite the best idea I've ever heard."

Their negotiations after that were singularly lacking in words, comprised instead of a second kiss, a third, a fourth, too many to count, the feel of skin as they slowly wended their way to the bed, a trail of clothes and leather scattered across the floor.

They were delighted to declare the first round a tie, once they'd built that first slow hot fire, fed by the taste of sweat and sex, by learning how very much Fenris enjoyed the touch of Bastian's hands, once they'd started, how much Bastian enjoyed the brush of Fenris' hair against his skin an instant before he felt the edge of teeth, or the soft caress of lips. It was entirely satisfactory to end the night with muscles weak and warm and sated as they spread across the bed, still touching, still breathing in the scent of each other's skin.

The second round began when the dim light of dawn leaked through the curtains, the rattle of a the pump in the courtyard causing Fenris to wake in an unfamiliar bed. But the feel of the man beside him was something to savor, not fear, and he woke Bastian up with the slow slide of hands across skin, the warm touch of mouths, the soft whisper of words. Like most of their continuing negotiations throughout the years, that one was a tie as well, highlighted by the curve of Bastian's spine as he pushed his hips into Fenris' mouth, the grip of Fenris' hands on hips and thighs and shoulders.

They made a very good team once they left the room as well. And not a one of the remaining Blue Swords were surprised at their new co-Captains, more amused than not at the way they conversed with lifted brows and shrugs when in the field, and always shared a tent. Bastian charmed the clients, and Fenris terrified their enemies, and both of them did their very best to keep as many of them alive as possible. It worked out quite well for everyone.


End file.
